


No Rest for the Wicked

by icomewithknives



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Kid Fic, POV Outsider, Parseltongue, Possessive Behavior, Sane Voldemort, Slow Burn, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7921159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icomewithknives/pseuds/icomewithknives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lucius thought all was lost: his Lord came back; malicious grin on his lips and a look of such ecstatic pleasure in his scarlet eyes Lucius did not know if he should fear for his and his family’s lives or rejoice to see his Lord looking so terribly satisfied. The only evidence something monumental had happened was the thin, red scar that resembled vaguely a lightning bolt on Voldemort’s vicious grinning mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If one heart can mend another  
Only then can we begin  
So won't you hold on a little longer  
Don't let them get away

– **Lykke Li** , _No Rest for the Wicked_

 

Lucius Malfoy had many things he could be proud of in his life: magic, blood purity, family and wealth; but most importantly: his position in his Lord’s Inner Circle. His Lord trusted him – as far as someone powerful like Voldemort could ever trust anyone – to do his bidding as he willed it and come back with results so that was why the Malfoy patriarch found himself, uninvited, in his Lord’s manor at such late hour.

_Before_ , once upon a time, when the Potters were alive and still a threat, Lucius, in one of his quasi-private and quite heavily layered corners of his mind, had doubts. He was not foolish enough to voice any of them, of course, - except perhaps to his wife, Narcissa, - but he still had them nonetheless.

His Lord’s mental and physical health had been declining steadily and so were his ideals. Lord Voldemort became more vicious, erratic and…  _Irrational_. However, when Lucius thought all was lost: his Lord came back; malicious grin on his lips and a look of such ecstatic pleasure in his scarlet eyes Lucius did not know if he should fear for his and his family’s lives or rejoice to see his Lord looking so terribly satisfied. The only evidence something monumental had happened was the thin, red scar that resembled vaguely a lightning bolt on Voldemort’s vicious grinning mouth.

_After_ , when news of the Potters’ death finally reached his ears, Lucius thought he understood why his Lord seemed so pleased. One of his fated enemies were seven feet under and no longer could defy him. They were closer to victory.

_Now_ , five years later, there he was, standing tall and proud in front of his Lord’s office door, bearing once more delightful news of yet another victory in their campaign against the filth that walked their world. His Lord would be  _pleased_.

Taking a deep, calming breath Lucius waited for a beat, knowing that his Lord was perfectly aware of his presence the second his magic entered into contact with the wards deeply rooted around the place, and lightly knocked on the dark wood.

“ _Enter_ ” came the quiet almost hissed command. The Malfoy patriarch did so immediately, not wanting to make his Lord wait any longer than necessary.  

Voldemort’s office was impressive in itself: tastefully decorated and clean, but the sheer amount of artefacts and books it contained could still make a man like Lucius Malfoy – who had a quite impressive office of his own – awed. Especially because of how dark and rare many of those items were; and he knew that was not even the real extent of his Lord’s collection, not by far.

The Dark Lord sat amidst of it all on a plush dark office chair, parchment in one pale elegant hand and silver thin-wired round glasses in another. He looked comfortable and at ease, and dare Lucius to think about it for more than one second:  _human_.

“What, pray tell, brings you here at this hour, Lucius?” Voldemort prompted, voice betraying nothing but a passing, faint curiosity. He did not even look up from whatever he was reading. The Malfoy patriarch knew it was rather impolite to appear unannounced at such late hour but he also knew the news of any development in their campaign took precedence above practically anything, even sleeping hours – though if Voldemort ever slept, Lucius did not know. He also knew, however, that his Lord did not enjoy waiting for more than he had to, not if there was no apparent or reasonable reason to do so.

Lucius opened his mouth to begin his report but soon closed it when he heard the door he came in the opening just a fraction. He turned around, wand in hand and a curse on the tip of his tongue – it never hurt to be prepared for the worst, after all. However, whatever it was that interrupted was not tall or visible enough to be in his line of sight.

A house-elf?  

Voldemort let out a clearly exasperated sigh. The sound so common it would make Lucius gasp in surprise if he was a lesser man.

“What is it?” his Lord asked, and Lucius would think it was a question directed at him if not for the unmistakable – and alarming – amount of fondness mixed with exasperation that Voldemort’s voice carried.

Slowly one of the double doors opened a tad more and the Malfoy patriarch, could swear, for a brief second this might just be a rather strange dream, because why else would he see a child standing at his Lord’s door, barefooted, dressed in a pale green nightgown holding a gods,  _toy snake_? It even resembled one of his own son’s toys, albeit a different shade of green.

_Merlin_.

To make matters even more ludicrous the child, no older than five or six years old, walked into the room without a hint of fear directed at his Lord’s presence, toy snake firmly clutched against her small chest. She spared Lucius a brief, dismissing look, though apart from that she did not even glance at the room at large, as if,  _Merlin forbid_ , she was already familiar with everything in it, especially the man sitting in front of them both. She had bright green eyes that reminded him acutely of the killing curse and they were weary and fixed solely on his Lord’s red ones.

Unnerving, to say the least.

She did not answer his Lord’s inquiry, choosing to blink owlishly and Lucius noticed then, with growing alarm, the tear tracks on her face; and apparently five years of fatherhood did, in fact, affect a person because his first instinct was to kneel before her, clear her tears away and ask her what was wrong.

_This was possibly an actual nightmare_ , Lucius was sure of it.

“Well?” Voldemort demanded, impatience making itself known in the way of one of his brows raised, as if saying  _go on, we do not have all night_. He put both parchment and glasses atop of his desk, rising from his seat, graceful and unconcerned.  Attention finally picked.

Lucius opened his mouth but closed it yet again, uncertain if his Lord was talking to him or the child. At this point, he could not really tell. Perhaps he was under the  _Cruciatus_ and the pain was so intense he had finally gone mad. His grim thoughts got interrupted by a sound that could be described as a cross between a hiss and a whimper; making his blonde head instantly whip to stare at the source of the odd sound:  _the child_.

She approached, standing in front of His Lord large desk, distant enough from Lucius they were not exactly in the same space. Her hair was so black, Lucius observed, it was as if shadows attached themselves to her head messily, like a dark bird’s nest. Tiny toes curled slightly against the material of the lavish rug under the desk as if seeking comfort in the feeling of the soft material.

It seemed that night was out to get him because Lucius felt his heart stop beating when she did what he thought was just his imagination and lack of sleep playing a distasteful prank on him: she hissed and his Lord hissed right back.

They were having a conversation, he suddenly realised, in  _Parseltongue_.

Voldemort sighed again, right hand pinching the bridge of his nose in a clear show of discontent – with the whole situation or the girl, Lucius could not tell.

He rounded the desk, making Lucius’ body automatically tense in anticipation and the child’s eyes to go wide and hopeful as the man himself stood in front of them. Never did her gaze leave his Lord’s face, staring at him with an intensity that could rival the one found in some reptiles studying their prey.

The Malfoy patriarch noted with a detached sense of wrongness the casual yet well cut, attire of his Lord: black pants, white button-down shirt and bare feet. He had no idea why the sight of Voldemort’s bare feet strikes him as odd. Perhaps it was because they never saw their Lord looking anything but perfect, with not a single hair out of place.

“Please,  _Maas_.” The child pleaded in English, a strange hissed accent colouring her words as if she did not speak without hissing very often. Her arms were up, facing his Lord’s direction, the bloody toy snake still in one hand.

“Fine, but just this once.” The Dark Lord chided, bending and picking the girl up. She promptly moulded herself to his side, arms circling Voldemort’s neck and her small, pleased face burying itself in the crook of the man’s pale throat, nuzzling it like a cat and quieting. Lucius suspected that if she were, in fact, a cat, she would be purring. “You are getting far too old for such childish whims.”

_Dear Merlin_.

“My lord…” Lucius said, voice thankfully not breaking in his astonishment. His mind was working so fast trying to absorb everything that a headache was well underway. “Is she… Yours…Your–”

The Dark Lord’s attention left the child’s peaceful, content face and Lucius regretted bringing the man’s attention to himself acutely. Scarlet eyes darkened to a blood red tinge as they studied him and Lucius recalled a similar gaze in the eyes of the child sleeping peacefully between them.

Minutes seemed to tick by when Voldemort smirked, the thin, oddly shaped scar growing more noticeable with the movement.

“ _Mine_? Oh, yes…” the man admitted in a long, satisfied drawl, every word tinged with clear and heavy possessiveness. He gently adjusted the girl in his arms, making her more comfortable in his hold. The action seemed to clash against the dark tone that layered the Dark Lord’s voice, like a snake ready to strike at any moment if someone ever doubted whom the child belonged to, “My little queen. My  _one_  and  _only_.”

Distractedly his Lord touched the girl’s hair, putting a few strands away from her face, the gesture effortless enough to show he was used doing so on occasion and that made Lucius remember the way Narcissa would, lovingly, adjust Draco’s white-blonde hair away from his face while he slept.

With some difficulty, Lucius suppressed a shudder; shutting down the line of thought as soon as it came.

“It seems our business will have to wait for an adequate time,” Voldemort commented quietly, rocking the child slightly and making her whimper. Touching her cheek, he shushed her with soft hisses. “I trust this is a satisfying arrangement?”

“Yes, my lord.” The Malfoy patriarch answered, unable to stop staring at the strange creature fast asleep in the arms of one of the most feared Dark Lords in Britain. “I will come back tomorrow afternoon if that is acceptable?”

“Certainly.”

Lucius felt nothing but immense relief to finally be dismissed when his Lord’s words stopped him dead in his tracks:

“How old is young Draco, Lucius?”

“He… He will be six on June 5th, my Lord...”

“Hmmm.” Voldemort hummed, pleased. “Bring him here when you come tomorrow. I want to see him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lucius took his leave, knowing there was no use asking his Lord for the reason behind such unexpected request. He left quietly, the door closing as silently as possible when he heard it: the child made another sound in her sleep and he saw how Voldemort soothed her with a light kiss on her forehead.

When he was safely behind the wards of his ancestral home, Lucius first action was to see his son: Draco was blissfully asleep, toy snake in his arms and Lucius made a mental note of burning the thing as soon as he could. Undressed of his evening attire and with the warm body of his wife beside him in their bed, a chilling thought hit him:

The child had a scar on her forehead that looked remarkably like the one on the _smiling_ mouth of the Dark Lord kissing her soothingly to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings,
> 
> I'll be honest with you: much like Lucius I have no idea what just happened. This was one of those things that could not leave me alone until I gave it some sort of _form_. I had fun writing from Lucius Malfoy's point of view and making him question his sanity - like I did with my own.
> 
> I don't know if I want to expand this universe into a multi-chapter fic or just write small, separated pieces and turn it into a series where I develop Tom and Harry's relationship through the years (maybe they become an item or it stays platonic, who knows...). I'd also like to point out that I'm not a native English speaker and this work is not beta'd so it may undergo editing at odd hours for no reason at all. Comments are always appreciated. 
> 
> **Update:** after some reflection I decided to make this a multi-chapter fic after all. It won't be lengthy (4 chapter at best) or have much of a plot.


	2. Chapter 2

Narcissa Malfoy had many things she could be proud of in her life: magic, blood purity, wealth and – more or less – the Dark Lord’s trust, but above all, the thing that would always come first for her: _family_. The Malfoy matriarch loved both her husband and her son very dearly and with a great deal of fierceness that not many people were privy to while she wore an impenetrable and haughty pureblood mask. And although she was no warrior like her older sister Bellatrix, Narcissa was still a Black and a capable witch in her own right, thus even if she did not expect Draco to become involved in their Lord’s unfathomable plans so soon and at such a tender age, – for her family – she would not falter.

Without much fanfare she arrived at four o’clock sharp at their Lord’s manor, portkey – an invitation written in the Dark Lord’s own elegant penmanship and magic – faded rapidly in flames before it even touched the polished ground.

Closing her eyes briefly, Narcissa waited for her stomach to settle and nausea to fade away. It been universally agreed upon that travelling using a portkey would always be a singularly unpleasant experience, no matter how many times one went through it. She pondered for a moment about what could happen today, it always varied depending on the circumstances and the Dark Lord’s ever-changing moods.

Having tea once a month with Lord Voldemort himself – when he had the time, of course – never ceased to be quite… Disconcerting. Especially because of the reason that brought said meetings to life: the child. Years had passed by and unknowingly to Lucius at the time, when he first saw the girl, their fate was sealed that night. Now theirs and the child’s lives entwined, rooted deeply into fate’s fertile soil like a tree, and Lord Voldemort would not let any of them ever forget it.

A familiar _pop_ of a house-elf appearing interrupted her musings, blue eyes focused on the small creature. _Ah_ , she thought with a mental sigh, it was the strange house-elf to greet her again. Dobby was its name, she recalled, a rather odd creature that once belonged to the Malfoy family and somehow ended up joining the Dark Lord’s household as a gift for the child.

“Welcome, Mrs. Malfoy, mistress!” It said enthusiastically, in that squeaky, unpleasant voice known to belong to house-elves. Large watery green eyes blinked once and went wide as it remembers to bow briefly and vanish her coat with a snap of its thin fingers. At least it did not threw itself on the ground dramatically and started to beat itself for misbehaving as it used to. Small mercies. “Master Lord Voldemort, sir, is sitting on the veranda. Is Mistress joining the Master there, then, Mistress?”

Narcissa nodded once, letting the creature guide her through the familiar path. She noticed that not much changed from her previous visit: the manor was still very much elegant, clean and… surprisingly bright. Considering how heavily warded, unplottable and locked in a Fidelius Charm where the Secret Keeper was no one but the Dark Lord himself, one would expect a fortress, dark and cold, yet it was none of that, at least not the parts Narcissa was allowed to enter. She was one of the few people, save her own husband and son, allowed to think about navigating the main wing where Voldemort and the girl lived. Everything in that wing looked disconcertingly homey in a way she could not really understand for it was uniquely _theirs_.

The doors that lead to the veranda were wide open, showing the less trimmed but much more favoured garden. Even from a certain distance, Narcissa could already see the outline of her Lord’s form.

He sat, apparently unconcerned, on a simple, iron garden chair, head slightly bowed as he read. A pocket book held in one hand, while the other stirred his tea lazily with wandless magic.

It was not the first, or the second, not even the third time she witnessed such effortless show of power, and yet it was still awe-inspiring. Narcissa was deeply aware of how powerful Lord Voldemort was, they wall were, in some way. Only a muggle would not be able to sense how magic rested on his form like a cloak, bending itself to his every will and a simple flick of his fingers.

“Thank you for meeting me at such a short notice, Narcissa.” The Dark Lord greeted smoothly, voice moving through her like a serpent made of silk and resting comfortably around her neck like a noose. He marked the page he was and then rested the book atop of the table, gesturing for her to sit across from him. “I hope you have been doing well.”

The Malfoy matriarch felt her throat go dry, familiar apprehension gripping her insides every time his attention rested solely on her. She bowed respectfully, a polite smile on her face as she greeted him back, “It’s no problem, my Lord. I have been doing quite well, thank you. How about yourself?” finally sitting, Narcissa rested her hands on her lap, gaze not quite meeting his.

He regarded her silently for a beat: red eyes bright and clinical behind round thin-wired glasses. The intensity of his gaze often reminded her of a hunter staring at its prey, waiting, testing, before quite suddenly his face shifted into a more pleasant and open expression.

“I would be lying if I said I am not at least a bit tired,” Voldemort commented casually, sipping his tea. “Although I cannot really complain. Lucius is doing most of the work this past week, I am afraid. I imagine he has been complaining in my stead.”

Narcissa coughed delicately, masking a smile behind her hand.

“I left him in the middle of a tirade. I am sure he will resolve it soon, though.” She shifted her gaze to the garden before her, though she still could see him in the corner of her eye. It was oh-so-easy to fall prey to his beauty, his honey-socked charisma, so every step she took had to be careful in navigating the quasi-familiarity he graciously provided. “Though I still cannot imagine anything more tiring than being the Minister of Magic himself.”

Voldemort chuckled lightly, resting his tea set on the table.

“Indeed. There are still many things to be done.” Voldemort snapped his fingers, calling another house-elf to join Dobby, who Narcissa had all but forgotten was still there.

“What can Minty do for you, master, Lord Voldemort, sir?” it squeaked, thin hands nervously wringing the fabric of its creamy, clean toga.

“I want you to prepare more tea, Minty. And you, Dobby,” red eyes found watery green ones, who eagerly awaited its commands. The corner of Voldemort’s mouth went up a fraction. “I want you to find my mischief-maker and bring her here. Now go.”

“Yes, sir!” the house-elves said in unison, popping out of existence. 

“Now,” he began, attention sharpening on her again. Narcissa felt wariness flowing inside of her like poison for she was almost certain she knew what he was going to bring up.  “I already know Lucius’ concerns about this matter but I want to discuss this with you also. I know you are worried about Draco, Narcissa, I do not fault you for that, however, you know what his mission is.”

Narcissa bent her head, eyes focused on her hands in her lap as she remembered the morning, years ago, when Lucius came to her, his face pale and conflicted.

“What is it?” she had inquired, voice calm and serious; pale hand holding her husband’s own. Whatever it was involved their Lord somehow, she was sure of it. Nothing could shake Lucius’ confidence like the possibility of facing Lord Voldemort’s dissatisfied visage. “What happened?”

Lucius looked visibly torn, lips pursed in a clear show of tension. The more he had stalled, the more worried Narcissa became. They held few secrets between themselves, for theirs was a strong union between two purebloods who genuinely loved and cared about each. They were stronger _together_.

“Lucius,” Narcissa said sharply, hold tightening on his hand. She was a patient woman, she really was, but seeing that Lucius had seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, she decided to take control. Between them, she was the one who took the reins when it came to their personal and social lives, letting the politics mostly to him, though she kept an eye open for his misgivings. “What. Is. _It_.”

Startled, the Malfoy patriarch let out a sigh, resigning himself. He looked at Narcissa dead in the eyes and said in a grave voice:

“Our Lord wants to see Draco.”

She gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth in horror.

Not her little dragon, not her son.

“He… He did not say exactly why but he expected to see us…” Lucius had paused, looking pained. He knew his wife was taking the news hard. Narcissa loved Draco with every fibre of her being. “…today, afternoon.”

Narcissa turned away from her husband, mind racing.

“There must be a reason, Lucius.” She said, noticing how silent he was being. The woman turned back around, blue eyes narrowed into a glare. “There is something you are not telling me. I can feel it.”

“Narcissa…”

“Tell me!” she hissed fiercely, stepping closer to her husband. “This is about our family, Lucius. Our son! You will tell me. _Now_.”

Lucius let out another sigh, holding her hand once more, grip a mixture of affection and reassurance. He was uncertain, that much was clear in the way he looked around their room trying to collect and put his thoughts in order. She had hoped, whatever it was, would not end with their son dead.

“Yesterday, when I went to give our Lord the good news of a law that passed in the Wizengamot that would help us a great deal I was… Interrupted.” He had looked briefly at their intertwined hands and then into her eyes. “I saw something that, perhaps, I should not have seen. It was out of my control and the Dark Lord did not… He… did not really… Narcissa… There was a _child_.”

“A child.” She repeated dumbly, not really understanding the magnitude of the revelation. The words ‘child’ and ‘Dark Lord’ did not fit together in any way or form in her brain, let alone in the same sentence.

“Yes,” Lucius confirmed, looking at the far wall, remembering. “She looked to be Draco’s age, black hair and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. She was holding one of those ridiculous toy snakes that Draco himself favours and she… She spoke _his_ language.”

“You don’t mean…”

“The serpent language was spoken only by the descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself...”

“… _Parseltongue._ ” Narcissa finished in a whisper, eyes wide.

“You should have seen it, Narcissa. They were having an entire conversation in it and… and… He was… He was affectionate with her.”

Narcissa went agape. While she considered the action uncouth and entirely beneath her, she could not help herself. It was as if Lucius just blurted out that Muggles were somehow superior to the wizard kind and Mudbloods did not have dirty blood in their veins. It was ludicrous.

“I would probably never believe it myself if I didn’t see it with my own eyes. It sounds unbelievable, I know, but their body language spoke of familiarity, of…” Lucius cut himself off, not willing to voice the unimaginable. “I don’t know if any of it was real but that child, Narcissa, she will change _everything_...”

Familiar laughter broke her from her reminiscence and with growing horror she realised she let the Dark Lord waiting.

“My Lord, I–” she tried to apologise but then noticed how his attention was already occupied by another, a breathtakingly genuine smile painted on his face. Of course. The joyful laughter meant one thing and one thing only…

“ _Maas! Cissa!_ ” The girl yelled excitedly, running towards them. Dobby followed after, a worried look twisting his little face. Voldemort hissed something and she stopped, looking abashed before resuming in a more sedate pace towards them. “Sorry. I know you hate when I run in the house.” She gave the Dark Lord a light kiss on the cheek and a brief bow to Narcissa as a greeting before sitting herself in the remaining chair and talking a mile a minute:

“Just about now I sent a letter to Draco asking when he is going to buy his supplies. Wandless magic can be fun but I am so excited to get my wand! Also, maybe, a pet. I love Nagini to death but I really want my own owl. Maybe a cat or another snake? Huh. I don’t know if we can bring snakes to Hogwarts…”

“Harry.” Voldemort interrupted, the corner of his mouth curving a little.

Harry abruptly stopped talking, looking at him. Bright green eyes wide and curious.

“Yes?”

“You are babbling.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, _oh_.”

“Sorry,” she said, sheepish. A light blush covering her round cheeks. “Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s all right, my dear,” Narcissa reassured kindly. Even if the Dark Lord made her understandably cautious, she could not deny how fond she was of his protégé. The girl was lovely, bright and charming. “We were just talking about Hogwarts just now. If our Lord allows it you can come with us when we go to Diagon Alley.”

Harry smiled, turning to look immediately to Voldemort for permission.

He inclined his head to the side, considering for a moment before saying, “No.”

The girl pouted, crossing her arms.

“Why?” she questioned, glaring at one of the most powerful Wizards alive.

“It can be dangerous.”

“Lucius and Narcissa can protect me.”

“People can recognise you.”

“They don’t even know who I am! Besides I can wear a glamour just in case.”

“The Order–“

“…is no concern of mine!” she said angrily.

Suddenly the temperature dropped tension and magic gathering around them as the Dark Lord glared at his protégé, blood red eyes darkening in anger. Narcissa braced herself for the worst. As far as she knew, the man had never hurt the child for misbehaving, but again Narcissa also knew that Voldemort was quite vicious in his anger. She never experienced his _Cruciatus_ but she still remembers the screams of the ones who did.

Switching to their shared language, Voldemort hissed sharply at the girl, making her flinch and curl into herself a little. His voice never raised, never changed. It was just a constant cold, sharp hiss, that even if Narcissa did not understand, she knew it was piercing through the girl’s heart if the tears in her eyes were any indication.

The apparition of the house-elf went ignored as it placed the refreshments on the table, quickly vanishing once more. Smart, that one.

“Well?” Voldemort asked, back into English. At first, Harry did not make a sound, tears streaming down her face silently as her gaze locked on her lap, little hands twisting nervously. “We don’t have all day, child.”

“I’m sorry!” She finally busted, crying in earnest now. Little hands grabbing the fabric of her floral dress. Harry did not cry often, but when she did, it was if her whole heart was pouring down with her tears. “I just– I just wanted to… To go out a little… I–I’m always… I’m always here! And. And… I’m lonely when you are gone! And I miss you but you’re always more there than here! And. _Iwantedtogowithyoubutyouarebusy_.” Her words became an unintelligible babble the more she cried.

Narcissa’s mouth formed a thin line as she sat there, unable to do nothing. Her first instinct was to comfort, but that was not her place. Narcissa was occasionally the girl’s mentor and she thought of her fondly but she was not the one who could give the girl what she needed.

Sighing, the Dark Lord got up and knelt in front of the child’s chair. Long, pale fingers resting on Harry’s cheek in comfort, thumbs brushing the tears away. He murmured something in Parseltongue, gently this time. “Really?” Harry hiccupped, small hands finding bigger ones and holding them firmly against her face.

“Yes, Harry. Really. You know I cannot lie to you.” He said in a resigned tone. It seemed that even the Dark Lord had a weakness for the person he lo–… he was taking care. “Come. We will talk more after we clean the mess you’ve made of yourself.”

“Okay.” Holding her arms up, Harry looked hopefully at her guardian, green eyes a little red from all the crying. Voldemort let another sigh, getting up and taking her in his arms.

“You’re heavier,” Voldemort commented offhandedly, adjusting her in a more manageable position. She was a little bigger, he supposed. Children grow horrifyingly fast after all. “Did Dobby feed you more sweets than you are allowed? I know you are very fond of treacle tarts.”

Harry glared at him, “I’ll have you know I’m a growning woman!”

“Woman, you say?” Voldemort teased.  “Well, I guess I can put you down–“

“No!” Harry exclaimed, arms tightening around the Dark Lord’s neck. “ _Don’t_.”

“All right, all right.” He reassured lightly, kissing her head.

Narcissa felt all but forgotten, but she did not really mind, used to it as she was. It was strange but also fascinating to observe how the Dark Lord and the girl would all but forget anyone was in the room with them the moment they found each other. It was if they were magnets whose force always pulled them in each other direction no matter where they were. They were, without a doubt, a curious pair. No one knew the origins of the girl and why exactly Voldemort took such an interest in her but somehow Narcissa had her suspicions – none that she would ever say out loud, of course.

As if just remembering her existence, Voldemort turned his attention back to her.

“I apologise, Narcissa, but it seems we will have to postpone our conversation. Perhaps we can talk more when we meet in Diagon Alley to buy Harry and Draco’s school supplies.”

Eyes wide, Narcissa was proud of how firm her voice was, when she asked, “You will be coming with us, my Lord?”

“Yes, it seems so. I made a promise, after all.” The child in arms, he turned back to walk to the door before pausing and looking at her. “Dobby will see you out.”

Narcissa got up and bowed.

“Bye, ‘Cissa!” Harry waved briefly; chin resting on the Dark Lord’s shoulder. Her face was content, a sleepy smile playing on her mouth, scarlet eyes bright and pleased.

Narcissa blinked once, twice.

They were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings.
> 
> After a great deal of consideration – if I was going to continue this or not – and a busy schedule in the past month, here it is is! A new chapter, wow. I finished editing – and I may do so again later – and I can't believe I wrote that many words. It's a personal fic record for me so congratulation to me, myself and I and thank you everyone commented and gave me kudos to kept this trainwreck going.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing Narcissa Malfoy. I feel like she gave much more depth to the story as a whole and put some light into Harry and Tom's relationship. She's definitely way more observant and sensitive than Lucius in my opinion. And boy, that woman is fierce. She may have her flaws but her main drive is definitely her family and that's pretty cool.


End file.
